Justice
by vadg
Summary: Some might call it revenge, but for John Cena, and John Bradshaw Layfield its justice.  Several pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_This is will be a multi-chapter fic, I promise it will not be as long as Despise ;) . This was inspired by a story called "Lyin' Eyes" by ff nets own Wrestlefan4. _

"Don't start that shit again."

In the darkness, Shawn's breath caught and his eyes pinched tight. Slowly, not turning around, he inched backwards across the bed. Hunter's broad arms enfolded, groping at him, pulling him in to spoon against Helmsley's chest.

Shawn yielded to the motion, but the stiffness, the resistance remained.

"Still trying to pretend you don't want it?"

Shawn's jaw tightened and he flinched against the words, against the increasingly intimate touch. Hunter's humorless laughter vibrated against his head and neck, then the familiar hardness ground against him.

Shawn knew he was going to come again. Unbiden, the tears sprang to his eyes.

Hunter's lips traced their acidic trails as his hands passed over Shawn's cock.

"Does crying work for you at home?"

Shawn's fury was lost in his shame and desire.

* * *

Suddenly, the world was falling away.

John let them slip, his hand could no longer feel them. They parted, showering like small pieces of glass, face up, face down, overlapping, fragmented images, like his own memories once flawless, now forever changed.

_Shawn and Hunter in front of a hotel._

_Kissing in a doorframe._

_Entwined._

The images wavered and his vision blurred.

Days nights kisses laughing love

"I didn't mean to bring this to you."

The other John's voice was fading away but some, last proud piece of Cena's champions' heart could not let him fall apart in front of this man. He stood, waivering,  
a wounded combatant, silently begging his conquerer to dispatch him.

_Turn around, for God's sake, don't look at me this.._

"I knew how you would feel."

Then, the proud warrior fell into John Bradshaw Layfield's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

He threw back the covers, leaving Shawn cold and naked.

"How long are you going to keep doing this?"

The words were punctuated by the impact of his clothes against his chest.

Then once again, Hunter's cold shadow crawled over his body.

"It does not make a difference. I do not care. Do you understand me, Shawn? I don't care about your guilt. You are here because you want to be."

It was lies. It was more of his lies and at last, the Icon's defiance gave him the strength to speak.

"I am here because you make me."

Then Hunter exploded into laughter, his face contorting into a humorless, contempting mask.

"Will you get over yourself?"

His tone darkened, his words growing terse and precise.

"Call it blackmail. Call it whatever you want, but you had a choice. You chose to lie."

Shawn's brow darkened, driving away his tears.

"I chose to protect the only good thing I have ever had."

Hunter doubled over, his humorless laughter returning again.

"You honestly think that Layfield doesn't already know you're a whore?"

Shawn rose to his feet and his toes to meet Hunter's eyes.

"I may be a whore, but Hunter, do you know what you are? You're a leech. That's all you do. You attach yourself to someone and then suck the blood right out. You rode me, you rode your wife, your father in law and now you're riding that kid."

Hunter was still smiling.

"I don't just ride him. I own him. Just like I own you."

* * *

Those small parts of John that were still functioning refused to accept that it was real.

He was up, he was moving, but he was still falling.

He raved, pacing, weeping, giving vent to his wildest of imaginings while the other John sat, watched, his dark eyes grim, almost tragic in their depth. Yet still he listened as Cena ranted on desperately seeking a reason or an excuse.

Shawn had taken advantage of their friendship. He had decieved Hunter, he had tricked him, or forced him because nothing could make Hunter do what those pictures said he had done.

It was a lie.

It wasn't real.

It had to be, because if it was true..

He had given a liar and a user everything that he had.

If it was real, then he was a dupe, the biggest, dumbest fool in the world. Even, even more, because he would live that way the rest of his days to have Hunter back.  
If it was real, he would never be happy again, because Hunter was all the joy in his life.

He was falling.

Now, the world of denial he built to survive was crumbling away just as his real world had.

Bile and wretch rose in his throat as his body burned its last reserves.

He faltered, collapsing again, the other John lifting, guiding.

Each step was shorter, slower, harder, until finally, only the sensation of movement remained.

His world collapsed down to a fading view of a white porcelain sink.


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter-and this story-has moments that are very ugly, but this story is meant to be a commentary on how a user works. The Hunter of my story-and the Hunters of this world- have no regard for others. The only way they can feel strong and successful is to break others but my Hunter is heading for a fall. My two Johns will find Justice-and revenge-and as for Shawn, you're just going to have to trust me there ;)_

Now, it was Shawn's turn to laugh.

"You don't own me. I have left you a hundred times, but you will not let go. You will not accept that I don't want you. You just keep doing everything and anything you can to keep me here. I don't need you but you just keep on needing me."

Hunter's eyes glintered under the onslaught, but his smile remained.

"I don't need you. I use you. Because I can, and because it's easy. You're like an old shirt, wrinkled and damaged, wearing thin from the years. Something you wear because it doesn't matter what happens to it, it's already lost all it's value."

Shawn's shoulders shivered, and he broke contact, lowering his head in silent defeat. For Hunter, it was like blood in the water.

"You are so pious. So long suffering, so in love with your guilt. You leave me, but you come back, not because I make you, but because I am your excuse, your enabler. Without me, you can't be a victim. You can't be "poor Shawn."

He was circling now, his posture tense as his face repeatedly jutted forward in time and emphasis to his words.

"I don't need you, Shawn, because I have something newer-something better at home."

* * *

"It's alright now. It's alright."

John could hear, but couldn't understand the soothing words. He wasn't aware of the soft touch of the water, the smell of vomit and soap, or the coolness of the cloth against his forehead.

He was still falling, and now, he was out of reach, turned fully inward, all his resources devoted to answering the single question of why.

He trained every day. He dieted. Every night, John went to work for the company that Hunter would own one day. He worked sick, tired, he worked holidays and when he came home, he gave Hunter everything else that he had.

He had made millions, and given every dime to Hunter. He had done anything, everything but Hunter..

Hunter wanted Shawn. Hunter didn't want him.

Shawn was beautiful and sensual and he wasn't.

He was stupid and useless and ugly.

He convulsed, suddenly, forcefully aware of the cool porcelain, the warm water, the hands gently dousing his body, suddenly ashamed, of his weakness, his idiocy and his ugliness. John rolled away, onto his side, pressing his face into the coolness of tub.

"Son, your shorts are still on. You don't have to hide yourself."

The words were vague, fuzzy, but now, John could hear the intent.

"It's alright."

He was still falling, but his body was easing itself back under the warm water, under the cool cloth and JBL's hand.

He had lost everything, even himself, but now John knew that he wasn't alone.


End file.
